


Prayers for the Despairing

by LilyRoeScott



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE CRYING, ALL THE FRIENDSHIPS, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Faithful!Inquisitor, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description of Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Minor Suicidal Thoughts, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Teen!inquisitor, all the companions - Freeform, all the insecurities, based on the backstory that the trevelyans are religious, but not fanatically, might have a slow start, people helping, people noticing, self-care, she just believes, teenquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:45:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRoeScott/pseuds/LilyRoeScott
Summary: Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. All Treasa Trevelyan has to do is to be brave. How hard can it be?A study of faith and anxiety and the role of inquisitor. Of the companions relationship to a fragile girl who just wants to do good.





	1. I shall not fear the legion

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to be from me spending the entire summer playing DA:I, which is my first attempt of actually playing a video game since I was like nine, and recent nights of restlessness, inability to sleep because my anxiety makes my chest ache, my mind panic, thoughts racing and unprompted crying.  
> So I wanted to make something of it! It's been a while since I posted any fanfiction and my writing style has changed alot since then, so hopefully this will be good.  
> If anyone notices something wrong in the writing or a tag missing please let me know.  
> I tried to do alot of extensiv research on the wiki for Dragon Age to get alot of things correct, so hopefully that'll show.  
> School starts in six days so let's see how this goes, but I will try and update and write!!  
> Unbeta'ed. Also English is not my first language but I would like to think myself good at it, but still, minor grammar mistakes might occur. (but as my teacher is telling me to stop writing in my native language in english gramatics, i hope this won't be too bad XD)

There are two thoughts that enter Treasa Trevelyan’s mind as she walks through the grand building. The first one is; _the temple is so much larger than the chantry back at home,_ which in hindsight might be a stupid one. The second one is the one that takes over; _the temple is incredibly beautiful._ The endless halls and the sky high ceilings and the towering statues makes her feel like she’s some place too holy for her to step her feet. The burning candles that cast halos on the paintings and the sounds of bells that echoes hauntingly and the smell of the embrium that stands in the vases by the doors makes her feel more at home than she has since they begun their travels.

It seems so strange, such an impossible thought, that all of this had been lost and forgotten up until a few years ago. For so many ages it had been left in ruins, unimportant and abandoned.

It’s a sad thought.

But now it stands whole and holy, strong and powerful all around them in its newly restored glory. She can practically feel the awe that is stirs amongst the masses, and the way it rises like a shield or a barrier to keep the tension in the air from snapping.

Templars and mages and mercenaries and grand clerics and nobles and her. _What is she doing here?_

She wants so much for the holy feeling to take her in; to make her feel safe in the gorgeous temple and amongst the many, many weapons that surround her. But it’s hard not to cave beneath the tension, to feel nothing but uncertainty and fear amongst the apostates and the knights and the cunning lords and manipulative ladies. She wants so desperately to run up to her uncle, grab his hand like a scared little child and draw comfort from the knowledge that he too would be her shield.

But she can’t. She is no longer a child; instead a woman now of sixteen years. It is not allowed anymore. _It’s time to grow up._

Yet she lingers close to his side as they walk through the crowded halls; as he converses tensely with another nobleman, and as she tries not to trip over her own feet, on her heeled shoes or on the edge of her skirt.

The halls are stifling hot despite the heavy snow that covers the mountain and that still falls steadily from the sky outside. The dress she wears feels too constrictive; with it’s tight lacing along her back and the long sleeves and the layers of skirts. Her hands itches to pull off her leather gloves and claw at her chest, the air inside is too shallow and she can barely breathe in the growing crowd. It’s like something is pressing against her chest, like a heavy stone that refuses to let her lungs inhale and expand, only allowing short gasps in and out that keep her from fainting.

People are too close, bodies too tense, voices too high. It is impossible to breathe, to relax, to focus beyond all the people. Instead of her uncle’s hand she reaches for the familiar chant; over and over and over she goes over the faithful words of the Canticle of Trials in her mind, her lips silently shaping the words out of habit. The prayer is a precious one to her, burned into her memories after so many visits to the chantry.

_Maker, Maker, Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me._

The chant doesn’t do much to ease her breath but it does enough to distract her from the chaos around her as more and moretravellers arrive to the Divine Conclave. It is at Divine Justinia’s summon that they are all here, it is for her grace that the tension has yet to snap into violence, and it is for herposition that, according to her uncle, many of the nobles have decided to humour her attempt at peace.

She cannot really understand why they must humour her, why can’t they take her serious? Why prolong a fight when so many lives could be spared if only they agreed and talked?

The hour draws near and the progression will soon begin which is why people are scurrying about to make the final preparations and find their way to the grand hall. It isn’t until a flailing servant running down the hall bumps into her shoulder that she stops the incessant chant and realize that she is no longer by her uncle’s side, that she no longer can see him before her, that the warmth and safety that lingered with him have long left her cold. It freezes her cold in her steps, cold in her core and makes fear creep up like a familiar friend. The mass of people swarm her like flies, buzzing and close and there and not going away. Her heart pounds in her chest like a racing horse, the heat of the crowd dangerously high, the chant seemingly long forgotten.

She runs. No, she doesn’t, but it almost feels like it. She walks with quick steps; a wrong turn and another as she tries to find her way again. But she doesn’t know where she is or where she’s supposed to go. _Where is her uncle?_ The halls all look the same, the people moving in all directions, her sight tunnelled and dim. The sharp tap of her heels become louder and louder the further away from the crowd she gets, but it’s all drowned out by the blood rushing in her ears.

Yet she still hears the scream; the cry for help. It’s so close, so real and so terrified that it breaks through her mind. She freezes; in the middle of a narrow hallways that lacks in people and in light.

Another scream.

She wants to help, wants to be kind and strong and proud like the rest of her family. Just this once. She always imagined what she would do if she saw someone in need, someone in distress; that she would confront it with the courage of her brothers and the determination of her sister. But right now she only feels lost and confused and so very breathless.

 _Modest in temper, bold in deed._ Her family’s words. _But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me._ Andraste’s words. _Be brave, my child_. Her mother’s words.

_Be brave._

_Be courageous._

_Be brave._

_Be determined._

_Be brave._

As if her body is not her own she follows the sound, her heels clicking loudly as she moves faster than before, rushing towards a door. Her mind feels foreign, numb and blind, but explodes into a catastrophe of fear as she door opens easily under her hands and…

“What’s going on here?”

Maker, my enemies are abundant.  
Many are those who rise up against me.  
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,  
Should they set themselves against me.

\- Canticle of Trials 1:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, the others will be longer. Almost done with chapter 2!
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT!!


	2. Your Light remains

It feels like she's drowning in the darkness; there's nothing but the void and the ache. It pulses all around Treasa like a heartbeat, but she doesn't think it's her own that pounds so loudly. It's hard to tell really; to separate one body part from another, her entire body just aches like a massive bruise.

It's cold around her, a hollow coldness that is so wonderful. It's soothing and nice and she wants to sleep. Isn't she sleeping? What's going on? She should open her eyes, get up. Get up! But she's so tired. So achingly tired.

It's hard to reach the surface of the void; nothing but darkness, no light to guide her way.

Green

Green

Green

The pain flares up Treasa's entire arm and suddenly the coldness is consumed by the burning pain. It wraps around her like a chain that pulls her quickly to the surface, but that doesn't let go once she does. Her eyes snap open and a strangled scream escapes her lips but she finds nothing but darkness and danger.

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark but when they do it's hard to miss the shining metal blades that are pointed at her throat. They are four men, dressed in similar armour who with steady hands and steady eyes point their swords at her. The fear is instant inside her chest, the panic in her mind follows soon after, and the pain in her hand surrounds it all as a green light flares from her palm.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Like all of the muscles in her hands and arms are being pulled inwards and apart and twisted about. Like the bones are being splintered and shattered and cut against one another. Like she could just move and the entire thing would fall off.

It stops as sudden as it had begun but the aching remains; intensified twofold from before. It aches and aches and aches, pounding along with her heart.

Her mind feels hazy so it takes longer than probably healthy for her to realize that the cold around her comes from the bare stone floors onto which she's kneeling, that she cannot move proparly not only because of the pain but due to the manacles that her wrists are locked in. It's so surreal; more like a nightmare than reality, more like her brother's games when they were young than her actual life.

There's a loud bang as the door before her is violently open; forcing a gasp from her lips as the sound makes her head rattle and she doesn't know if she's breathing anymore. It's just too much. What is going on?

The panic rises like bile, or maybe it is bile, high in her throat but that refuses to pass her lips.

The men lower their swords, seething them as two women enter the room. The taller one has short cropped black hair with a sing long braid wrapped around her head, that makes her heart ache as it reminds her too much of her sister. She is clad in fitted armour with a long sword hanging threateningly on her waist. She circles Treasa like a predator, like wolf on the prowl.

The other woman is hid by the shadow of a purple cloak, the hood up and shielding her face. She lingers in the doorway and even though she cannot see her face she can feel the woman's eyes stare intently on her.

Treasa doesn't dare to let her gaze linger on either of them, instead casting her eyes down on her aching hand.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," the circling woman asks, her Navarran accent thick and her words so harsh they make her flinch. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

The words hit like an arrow to her heart.

Her uncle! He's dead? No no no no no no... Is she dead? No, the woman said she survived. Then why does it feel like she didn't? The scar is ugly in her palm; a tear through the flesh that shows glimpses of white bone and pink flesh and red blood that seems like it has been suspended in time, stopped and not moving an inch. Green light flicks like sparks in a fire, threatening to ignite.

The woman grabs her arm and pulls it up; forcing her hands and her eyes up and makes the sparks ignite in a flash of green. It aches, it aches, _it aches._

"Explain this!" she snaps and drops her arm back down, the motion making the bile in her throat rise higher.

The other woman has come into the light now as well, both standing so close, both demanding answers.

She has to answer; but what can she say? She doesn't know what to do! What is happening? Tears well up in her eyes and she lowers her gaze again, the scar sparking nauseating back at her. What is this? What is this? _What is this?_

_Mama!_

"Answer me!”

The words are snapped impossibly harsher at her and it startles Treasa so much that she falls back; her legs twisting beneath her, tears spilling over, and her breath stolen once again. When she looks up the woman's face is twisted into something beyond anger, something confusing she can't place.

"I can't," Treasa manages to stammer out; her voice sounding foreign and so far away yet screamed in the quiet room. It's all so confusing.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I don't know what is it, or how it got there. I don't know what's going on! Please!" she doesn't know what she's pleading for. For the pain to go away? For her uncle not to be dead? To wake up from this nightmare? For this to stop? Stop!

"She's just a child, Cassandra," the other woman remarks, her voice clearly more calmer but still as stressed as her companion's. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Does she remember? Remember what? All those people... dying? Darkness. The void. Not breathing. Running. Running. Running.

"I remember..." she pauses; her breath shaking, her voice shaking, her hands shaking. "Running. Things were chasing me. And then..." What happened then? A light? A hand? "A woman."

"A woman?" The cloaked woman repeats, interest clear in her voice.

"She reached out to me, grabbed my hand, but then..." What happened next? What happened before? What happened? What is happening?"

"What's happening? I don't know what's going on! I don't understand!"

A silence settles between them, the two women sharing a look before, Cassandra heaves a sigh.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift."

Leliana slips out the door so quietly while Cassandra kneels down before Treasa, cautiously unlocking the manacles. As the metal falls away her wrists feel tender and cold, but she only has a moment to miss the feeling of them before Cassandra binds her wrist together with a rope. It's surprisingly grounding; the pressure of being tied to something.

"This will be easier if I show you."

Cassandra helps her to her feet; the woman's grip on her hands and on her back the only thing that keeps her steady. It is then she realizes that she is not wearing her own clothing, instead dressed in a too large green coat, and pants and a pair of thick boots. The shame of having another undress her and redress her makes her cheek flare and more tears sting. She hopes Cassandra doesn't notice.

Outside the air is freezing and heavy snow is drifting from the gray clouds that surround the scar in the sky that's bleeding green. It stretches out over the range of mountains above them, more and more green blood falling from the wound into the valleys around.

Despite the awful feeling it conjures up in her stomach and the burn that it ignites in her hand, the sight of it is quite mesmerizing.

"We call it the Breach. It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the eplosion at the conclave."

An explosion? That's how they all died?

"Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world."

Like the crackling of lightning the *breach* burst into life and as it does the scar on her hand pulses alive with a gruesome light and bone crunching pain. Her shaky legs cave beneath her and once again Treasa ends up kneeling on the ground.

_Why is this happening to her?_

Suddenly Cassandra is kneeling with her, a heavy hand resting on her shoulder and with piercing blue eyes she stare into Treasa's.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it is killing you," her voice is softer, lower, soothing in a way that makes Treasa clench her eyes shut and once again want to cry out for her mother. "It may be the key to stopping this but there isn't much time."

There are so many things she doesn't understand, so many questions she should ask, but she can't find it in herself to do so. Instead she lets the tears fall and lifts her gaze towards the sky. The sun is hidden behind the cloud, the breach only causing the grey sky to grow thicker and thicker with clouds.

"You won't be able to see the stars," the words slip out with out her meaning to, her voice barely a whisper.

"The stars?" Cassandra questions, confused.

" _In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know, Your Light remains,_ " the prayer comes easily to her.

The sky shouldn't be green. She's shouldn't be dying. Dying! Why? Why? Why?

She feels frozen, numb in emotions, the reactions there but she can barely feel them within herself. With a strength she doesn't know where it comes from and leaning heavily on Cassandra's hand she stands up.

"What do you need of me?" 

In the long hours of the night

When hope has abandoned me,

I will see the stars and know

Your Light remains.

\- Canticle of Trails 1:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say that Im taking alot of inspiration for Treasa from my own experience with anxiety, and I know it varries from person to person and I will try to involve some other things that I might now have experienced.


End file.
